A Dirge (Shelley)

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

For works with similar titles, see A Dirge.

A DIRGE.

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main,—
Wail, for the world's wrong!

<1822>

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Notes

Line 6: "strain" — "stain" in edition 1824.